Michael leader of entertainment and karaoke arts of the town of Donnell's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Michael stood in the mud behind the community center and watched a fat gray cloud slide over the tree line. Under his arm he carried the karaoke machine, wrapped in a feed sack. The rig sat on two barrels and a plank, wired to a car battery he had begged off the sawmill. It was the only sound equipment the town owned, and one hard rain would kill it. He had promised the neighbors a stage where they could sing after work. So far he had two barrels, a plank, and weather he could not out-run. The town had been sour for weeks. The teacher snapped at the children. The papermill workers snapped at each other. Every adult in Donnell wore the same tight jaw. Michael believed a song could loosen it. He also believed a ruined speaker would end the idea before it began. The first drop hit the plank. He swore and hauled the machine inside. Then he went looking for lumber. The sawmill yard was stacked with fresh cut boards. Michael found Jim's father sighting down a beam, one eye shut. Michael asked for enough wood to raise a covered platform. He said he could not pay yet. He said the town needed it before the next storm. The old man spit and set the beam down. "Show me where." By noon, six men were digging post holes behind the community center. The blacksmith's apprentice brought nails in a leather apron. Two farmers carried the ridge beam on their shoulders. Michael marked the deck line with a length of twine. Rain came and went in short bursts. Every time the sky darkened, someone worked faster. They framed the roof by lantern light. Michael climbed up and nailed the last plank of the pitched cover himself. He hung two lanterns from the crossbeam. The deck was wide enough for six singers. Steps rose to it from the front. A painted board waited above the back wall for a name he had not chosen. He set the karaoke machine center stage, under the roof, and plugged in the battery. The speaker crackled. A tin voice sang out into the wet dusk. Neighbors came out of their houses. The teacher came. The forester came, wiping sawdust from his sleeves. Someone brought a jug. Someone else brought a fiddle. Michael handed the microphone to a farmer's wife, and she laughed and sang two verses of a hymn before she forgot the words. When full dark came, rain fell straight down on the new roof. The machine kept playing. The crowd kept singing. Michael stood at the edge of the deck and counted the faces. Forty-one households. Nowhere near enough room. The platform had saved the equipment. It had not solved the real problem. He looked at the small covered stage and understood he would need walls next, and a floor big enough to hold the whole town when winter came.